


Broken

by aelin_and_feyre



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, I cried three times writing this, Kingdom of Ash, Predictions, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelin_and_feyre/pseuds/aelin_and_feyre
Summary: One worst-case scenario of what Maeve will do to Aelin





	Broken

Aelin has been choosing the path of least resistance, a very new way for her to take. It is required however, in order to survive, she realized very early on. And she will survive. If she doesn’t, she will never be able to form the lock, protect Terrasen, or save Erilea.

The path of least resistance, however, has forced Aelin to give up many things, the most painful being her dignity. Cairn has taken mighty pleasure in forcing her to bear unspeakable torture in front of laughing crowds, be stripped bare and whipped, and swallow teaspoons of iron in order to hinder her magic. Fortunately, whether by Fenrys’ manipulation or a small piece of Maeve’s conscience that is still intact, Aelin has not been taken advantage of, at least not fully.

After that first day when her back was torn to ribbons and she almost died in transport, one glance at the look in Fenrys’ eyes told her that she wouldn’t survive such a beating again. Thus, in order to live long enough to fulfill her destiny, Aelin has taken the torturous affairs without so much as a complaint. She counts her ten lashings, willingly opens her mouth for the teaspoons, and lowers her eyes when her oppressors approach her.

Her only real torture is the way Fenrys is being abused, sometimes right in front of her, especially after they noticed her flinch the day Maeve had backhanded him. It had been the first reaction they’d seen, and it was their way in. Aelin has decided that it is all her fault Fenrys is now beaten daily, for the amusement of the others to see her pained expression.

He was forbidden from saying anything, his mouth practically glued shut, and Aelin found herself weeping at night, not from her wrecked body, or her separation from her mate, but rather the desperate look in his eyes whenever they met hers. Fenrys struggled day and night to break away from the Fae Queen, and Aelin could see that all he wanted was to save the both of them.

Connall wasn’t much help in the matter, the twin almost as silent as his brother as he watched the brutal proceedings that Maeve deigned him to attend. Vaughn has not been present where Aelin is concerned, and she’s not sure if he is still back in Erilea, but can’t find it in herself to care.

Her path of least resistance, however, seems to have no end, bend, or crossroads. Aelin is so sure that Rowan will come for her, or Aedion or Dorian, but as the weeks passed - what felt like weeks although Aelin truly has no sense of time while in the coffin - she began to doubt. She had clearly marked out where to go from here, had set them up with troops and reinforcements and back ups, had even made a back up for herself. Perhaps they truly did not need her anymore.

Aelin felt like, if that was the case, why wasn’t Maeve just giving the order to have her killed? She can’t truly believe that Aelin would become her personal weapon, and over Aelin’s dead body would she swear a blood oath to that bitch. There were some days where Aelin was pondering simply giving up, pinning the magic she was storing, keeping it from healing the largest wounds, and letting herself bleed forever until there was no blood left. Let the gods take it all and do with it what they wish.

Every night, alone in the restricting iron coffin, with as much courage as she could muster after the day, Aelin would repeat her mantra once. “I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid.” Unlike the year in Endovier or the subsequent trials after that, the saying didn’t work as well. It helped her remember who she was, sure, but it did not help her cope, or remind her what she was fighting for. Instead, it mostly made her remember how she had failed her country. A Queen unable to protect her people.

So, she developed a new tactic. It was the thought of Rowan that kept her slowly stocking up a reserve of magic deep within her, letting loose small bits to heal the most lethal injuries only. The memory of his smile made her count to ten each time she took on a beating. The phantom feeling of his arms around her helped as she resisted the urge to bite at the hand with the liquid iron. His bright green eyes when they stared into hers forcing her to avert her gaze from her abusers.

She dreamt every night that he would be there in the morning, opening the lid to her cage and lifting her up in his strong, steady arms. Every morning, however, it was Cairn, his canines stretching his face into a wicked smile that never failed to send a shudder up Aelin’s spine.

This seemingly endless routine is why, when a note fell into the coffin just before it was sealed, Aelin almost thought she was dreaming already. Carefully, trying not to ruin the tiny piece of paper with the blood coating her hands, Aelin picked up the message. She summoned just a bit of her power, the well growing deeper everyday, and flickered the faintest flame above her fingertips. It was a bit of a struggle reading through the slats in the iron mask.

‘Prepare. He’s coming.’

Just as the flame died, the same flicker of hope bloomed in Aelin’s chest. With renewed vigor and strength, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius quickly incinerated the note, slowly burned off the shackles restraining her arms, and got to work.

When a shout came through the thick iron door, Aelin knew it was time. She wiped a bit of fresh blood from the cut in her upper arm and finished the final wyrdmark. The latch on the door popped open with an almost indiscernible click, and Aelin used her remaining strength to force the lid open. She breathed in the fresh air and ripped the mask off of her face to have unrestricted vision.

Two guards standing at the door, looked at her in shock, the expression of absolute bloodthirsty rage surely scaring them shitless. She easily slipped her feet out of the shackles she had loosened earlier, and was marching across the room for them before either could make a sound.

A short scream and half-hearted attempt to skewer her with his spear was Aelin’s only hinderance in breaking the neck of the first one. Her muscles screamed at the movement, but Aelin continued to push, revitalized with every shout coming from the other side of the door.

The second guard was more prepared this time, but so was Aelin, now equipped with the fallen’s spear. She easily dispatched the warrior and chuckled lightly at the blood that once again coated her fingers, although for the first time in a while, it wasn’t hers.

She took his sword, strapped it to her waist, and gripped the spear in one hand before squaring herself to join the fray outside the door. Her legs burned, lungs ached, and head pounded, but Aelin was determined to make it to her husband. Her mate. Who had come for her at last.

She hesitated too long, however, and when the screaming stopped, Aelin was still standing on the other side of the door. She quickly ripped it open, a warrior scream dancing at the back of her throat, but when she saw what was in front of her, Aelin stopped, quickly dropping the spear. 

Rowan, Lorcan, Aedion, Fenrys, and Gavriel laid slain before her, various injuries scattered over their bodies that Aelin wasn’t sure which one had been the killing blow. Her mate’s green eyes were still open and they seemed to be looking right at her.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius sank to her knees.

It was when tears began to fall from her eyes that she finally noticed the Fae Queen standing in the middle of her fallen friends, barely a scratch on her. “You stupid, insolent girl, you really thought they would be able to save you?” Maeve sneered, Aelin unable to move her head to nod or shake. “Rowan is not coming for you. He does not love you. He still loves Lyria, and you know it. There is no hope.”

Her blank stare obviously displeased the queen, because immediately following the speech, Maeve flicked her hand to someone behind Aelin, and Cairn suddenly came into view. “Wake her up, then proceed however you wish.”

At the words, Aelin’s eyes widened and she finally remembered. She’d seen this before, in half a dozen dreams just like this. The path of least resistance, the note, the killing of the two guards, and her friend’s dead bodies before her. It was all a hallucination, and she had fallen for it. Again.

Before she could do anything to stop it though, Cairn shoved her jaw open and spilled a blue liquid down her throat. Aelin gagged, her body desperately trying to dispel the mixture. He followed it by another teaspoon of iron and Aelin thought she was going to choke to death.

Once all of the blue drink had made it’s way past her throat, however, Aelin’s eyes shot open, and she was no longer kneeling in the doorway. Instead, the Princess of Terrasen found herself strapped to a table, naked, hot iron restricting every movable part of her body.

A door shut and Aelin saw the tails of a long, black cloak and knew that the Fae Queen was just leaving. Now, she was left alone in an awfully familiar room with Cairn and the two other new Fae warriors who had sworn the blood oath to Maeve in order to replace Lorcan and Gavriel. Each of them more sadistic than the next.

For the next, well, Aelin’s not quite sure how long it was, the warriors took turn performing things on the princess that are not easily able to be repeated. She screamed and cried and thrashed, memories of the last two weeks flooding her mind once again. A never ending cycle of leather, iron, and frost, with a bit of sexual assault added in when they felt like it.

Aelin had never seen Fenrys since the day she had been taken, nor had she seen anyone other than these three and the Queen. They would not allow her to die, or have a peaceful night’s sleep, or a halfway decent meal. They decided when she would eat, drink, rest, and relieve herself.

Aelin struggled every second, refusing to give up.

It took them three months to finally break her. Three month of torture ten times worse than anything she had endured in Endovier, for Aelin Ashryver Galathynius to finally cease to be.

She would drift in and out of consciousness, barely caring where, when, or who she was. She’s not entirely sure what her name is anymore, or why she should care.

For brief instances, the girl forever strapped to to the iron table will remember what chocolate cake tastes like, or the feeling of silver hair as she runs her fingers through it, or the sear of magic as it thrills through her veins. When she closes her eyes, no longer remembering what color her own are, the girl receives images of deep sapphire, bright green, or dark brown ones staring back at her. She is unable to find it in herself to wonder who they belong to.

Three men enter the room daily and go about their usual routine on her body, but she is so completely numb, it’s impossible to tell where one cut ends and another begins. Sometimes, a beautiful woman comes and stands by her, but she just stares down with a cold and calculating expression. Once in a while, the woman opens her mouth as if she will say something, and then thinks better of it, exiting the room again. The girl with the newly sheared off golden hair will watch her leave and try to summon a feeling towards her visitor.

As the days go on, the cuts stop, the men disappear, and the girl with the mangled and burned wrists and ankles begins to heal. The woman visits the room more often, and will sometimes sit in a chair in the corner, still as silent as ever. The girl begins to look forward to these occasions.

Soon after the girl with the forever ruined fingernails is given her first bite of eggs one morning, the stunning lady enters the room with a stack of papers held together in a leather binding that triggers some distant memory in the girl. She’s not sure why, but the tiniest flicker of joy comes to life deep within her heart. The woman nods to the girl, flips the top binding off the pages, and begins to recite something written there.

For five minutes each day, the girl with the ribs that are almost poking through her paper thin skin is read to by the elegant woman. Two days after the girl is given clothes, and after five minutes of the usual reading, the gorgeous woman looks up from her book and talks directly to the girl for the first time.

“Hello, Aelin.” The woman says, and it only barely registers with the girl still lying on the iron table. “How are you today?” The girl scrunches her eyebrows in confusion, and the woman sighs. "We’ll try the talking again tomorrow.” Then the gorgeous lady stands and exits the room.

The girl with the aching lungs tries to remember how to use her vocal chords for something other than screaming. For each day, the woman enters the room and tries to persuade the girl to talk, and walks away disappointed each time. The girl somehow feels bad for making the woman who has done so much for her, sad.

So, on the fifth day of attempting to get her to talk, the girl finally responds. “I am doing well.” Her voice is rough, and her throat burns, but the smile that graces the woman’s face makes it worth it.

“That’s wonderful, Aelin. I am doing well, also.” She responds, then holds up what the girl now knows is called a book. “Would you like me to read you some more?”

The girl only has the capacity to nod, and they spend some days like that, making polite conversation and reading as the girl continues to heal.

When she has enough strength, the woman undoes her bindings personally, releasing Aelin from the constraints that have been burning her for months. It is impossible for the girl to walk, and so the woman has two other ladies - for the girl is still afraid of men - to carry her from the iron room to a room with a bigger, fluffier table in it.

The door is still locked but the table - which she learned is actually called a bed - is much for comfy, and there are no more chains, leather, or iron. A couple days spent in this room, and the girl feels a spark of something ignite deep within her. She does not explore the flicker until the beautiful woman asks her about it.

“Do you feel your magic returning, Aelin?” The woman asks, using the word the girl has figured out is her name. Aelin nods, and the woman smiles, making Aelin smile back. “That is very good Aelin, you will need that soon.”

Aelin furrows her eyebrows and asks why. The woman’s face suddenly goes dark. “There are people coming for you that want to take you away. Men, just like the ones that kept you on that table. They want to take you away from me and use your power for their war.” Aelin shrinks away, but a kind smile graces the woman’s features. “But do not worry, dear one, for there is a way that you do not have to go with them.”

“What is it?” Aelin asks, positive that she will do anything if only she can stay with the woman. The beautiful, breathtaking woman who has made the bad men go away, fed her, clothed her, read to her, and given her a bed to rest. She never wants to leave the comforts this woman provides.

“There is a blood oath that you can perform, which will tie you to me so no one can take you away.” The woman explains, and Aelin has never wanted anything more. “Do you want to take that oath, Aelin?”

And the girl with the broken mind, body, and soul nods eagerly.


End file.
